The Baby Swap Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  She rested against him for a moment, then together they strolled back to the table and sat down facing it, the last of the sun warming them as Sam fed her the tiny morsels—smoked salmon curls, on blinis with soured cream and herbs, fingers of cucumber and carrot dipped into humus—and then he brought out the bowl of strawberries and cream and fed her those, until they couldn’t take it any more.

  Every time his fingers touched her lips, he groaned. Every time his lips closed on her fingers, she inhaled softly.

  Then a strawberry slipped from her fingers, and she leant in and licked the juice from his chin, the stubble rough against her tongue, and she couldn’t hold back the tiny whimper of need.

  His breathing ragged, he tilted her face to his and took her mouth in a kiss so fiercely tender and yet so possessive that it robbed her of her breath.

  ‘Emelia,’ he said on an uneven sigh, and scooping her into his arms, he carried her up to his room.

  They woke in the morning in a tangle of arms and legs, and he made love to her again, savouring every moment.

  It was amazing. She was amazing. Her body was beautiful, smooth and firm and utterly feminine. He couldn’t get enough of her, and she was so responsive, demanding everything and yet giving so much more.

  That was so like her, though. She’d given him more than he could ever have imagined, and he’d given her so little in return. There was one thing he owed her, though. One thing he had to do, and he couldn’t put it off any longer.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘I’M GOING to feed Daisy and let her out,’ he said, getting reluctantly out of bed. He showered, dressed and went down, and she followed more slowly, her hair towelled but still dripping, and found the back door open and no sign of him.

  ‘No eggs,’ he said disgustedly, coming back in empty-handed with Daisy at his heels. ‘I was relying on them, there’s nothing else. They truly are the most useless chickens. Maybe I should just admit defeat and get rid of them.’

  ‘That’s such an empty threat.’

  He grinned. ‘Teach me to give them names.’

  And she’d bet her life none of them were called Alice…

  ‘There must be something else,’ she said, and opened the fridge.

  Nothing. Well, nothing suitable for breakfast.

  ‘Humus?’ he said, looking over her shoulder, and she gave a little chuckle.

  ‘For breakfast?’

  ‘Whatever. It’s about all there is to put on toast. I ran out of marmalade the other day. And butter. I meant to shop. I’ve been busy.’

  ‘Oh, Sam, you are hopeless. You need—’

  She broke off, and the smile died as his mouth firmed to a hard, uncompromising line.

  ‘What?’ he asked, his voice flat. ‘What do I need? Finish the sentence, Emelia.’

  She looked at him, registering the change in his voice, knowing this was a tipping point. She gave a resigned sigh. ‘It was a joke, Sam. I was teasing you. I know you’ve been busy. But I also think you’re lonely, you’re rattling around in this great place—you’re nesting, Sam. That’s what you’re doing, and you don’t even seem to realise it.’

  ‘I’m happy,’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t need a wife. I don’t need anything.’

  ‘Well, I do,’ she said, just as firmly. ‘I need breakfast, and I’m obviously not going to get any here, so why don’t we go over to my place and I’ll cook for you? Truce?’

  He nodded slowly, the tension gradually leaving him, and he gave her what had to be a half-hearted smile. But at least he was trying. ‘Truce,’ he agreed, and followed her, Daisy at his heels.

  He was being stupid. For a second there he’d thought she was offering herself for the job, but why would she? She was still grieving for James, he’d seen the grief at first hand when she’d picked up her things—but she’d slept with him last night, made love with him again and again. Was that the act of a grieving widow? Or a woman alone in the world and afraid for her future? A woman desperate to secure a future for herself and her child. He could hardly blame her, but he was damned if he was going to fall for that one twice.

  But her eyes had held such reproach, and for the umpteenth time, he reminded himself she wasn’t Alice.

  ‘Emelia—’

  ‘Bacon and eggs?’

  He put his thoughts on hold. For now. He knew damn well he was in the wrong and owed her an apology. An apology, and an explanation. But breakfast first.

  ‘How about a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea on the bench?’ he suggested. And then he could talk to her.

  About Alice.

  He felt his throat close, but there was no choice. It was time.

  ‘I need to tell you about Alice.’

  Emelia glanced at him, sitting beside her on the bench in the sunshine. ‘Is she the woman who told you she was pregnant with your baby?’

  A muscle bunched in his jaw, and he glanced away, then met her eyes again and nodded briefly.

  ‘It isn’t pretty,’ he warned.

  ‘I didn’t imagine it would be.’

  ‘She worked for me. She was an accountant, and we started seeing each other. Stupid, really. It was nothing serious but she was a beautiful woman and it was no hardship. I took her out for a meal one night, and she had to leave early because her mother wasn’t well. She had Alzheimer’s, apparently. We went out for the odd drink after that, and I kissed her, but nothing more. I’ve always made it a rule not to mix business and pleasure, and I was sort of sticking to it. Then she told me there was someone taking money from the firm. The auditors were coming in, and she’d been doing a little work in preparation, and something didn’t quite add up.

  ‘I left her to deal with it. It was nothing major, she said, only petty fraud, but she wanted to get the evidence before we contacted the police. I went abroad—I was working all over the world at the time, a night in New York, a night in Sydney, a night in Singapore. I was sick of it, ready to settle down, and on the last morning I woke up and didn’t know where the hell I was. I had to check my BlackBerry to find out. And when I got off the plane, she was there to meet me. She said she had good news—she’d got the evidence to nail the employee but she hadn’t called the police. She took me out for dinner to celebrate, and then she took me home and stayed the night. Two weeks later, she told me she was pregnant.’

  Emelia closed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. Oh, poor Sam. It was the oldest scam in the world, and he’d fallen for it. No wonder he was so damned wary. ‘And?’ she prompted, knowing there was more to this—much more. He’d said it was a professional couple. So who—?

  ‘I didn’t know how she could be. I was always very careful—I don’t do unsafe sex.’ He frowned, and she realised he hadn’t used a condom last night, not once. And there were more reasons than pregnancy for using them, so had it been his way of showing her he trusted her?

  ‘Anyway, she was definitely pregnant, and as I said, I was tired of jetting all over the world and suddenly there it all was on a plate—a wife, a child, a real home. It didn’t hurt that she was clever and beautiful as well. You were absolutely right about me. I was ready to settle down. And I fell right into her trap. I asked her to marry me, and within seconds, it seemed she had a shortlist of houses for us to look at. “We can’t bring up a baby in your apartment,” she told me, and promptly found a house overlooking Richmond Park that was apparently perfect. Then of course she needed an engagement ring—a stonking great diamond nearly as big as the house—and the wedding was booked. Nothing lavish, oddly, just a quiet registry office do with dinner out for a few close friends and family.

  ‘That was fine. I didn’t want a huge wedding, but I was surprised she didn’t. And then, just a week before the wedding, when the house was bought and the nursery furniture was on order and the interior designers were in, I asked her what she wanted as a wedding present.’

  ‘What, on top of all that?’

  He smiled wryly. ‘Everyone was doing it, she told me. The big house, the di
amonds. All her friends. So when she asked me what I wanted, I said she’d given me all I could possibly want. I was getting excited about the baby, really beginning to look forward to the birth. She’d started to show, and I was absurdly proud. It was ridiculous.’

  ‘It wasn’t ridiculous,’ she said, having a horrible feeling she knew where this was going and aching for him, because she’d seen how tenderly he’d touched their baby, his hand caressing him, smiling as he felt the movements, and she could feel his love for Max coming off him in waves.

  ‘Anyway, even though I’d already got her the matching diamond earrings, I asked her what she wanted, and she said if I really loved her, I could prove it by making her a partner in the company.’

  Emelia felt her eyes widen. ‘Just a little present, then.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Indeed. And I finally, belatedly, smelled a rat. I smiled and stalled her, made some vague comment that basically suggested she’d have to wait and see. She’d had a text while we were having dinner, and she went to the ladies’ and left her phone on the bench seat. It must have fallen out of her bag, and I checked the text. “Did he fall for it? X” So I made a call, and had her followed. She wasn’t staying at mine that night—her mother needed her, she’d told me. And she went home to a man who had a conviction for fraud.’

  Of course. ‘So—did you call the police?’

  ‘Yes. She was convicted of fraud and given a suspended sentence and struck off. She’ll never work as an accountant again. I also found and apologised to the man she’d framed to get close to me, but when I told her there was no way she was bringing up my child, she just laughed in my face and said it wasn’t my child anyway. I’d lost it all, as if I’d woken up and realised it had only been a dream. Only it was a nightmare, and it was real.’

  A spasm of pain crossed his face, and she reached out a hand and placed it over his where it lay on his thigh. ‘Oh, Sam, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah. Me, too. She’d been going to marry me and take half the company. The house and the diamonds were just icing on the cake. And there was no mother with Alzheimer’s.’

  ‘Was that when you ended up in hospital?’

  He turned his hand over, threaded their fingers together and stroked his thumb idly over hers. ‘No. I threw myself into work and spent nearly a year trying to kill myself with caffeine-induced tachycardia and chronic insomnia before I’d admit I was hating every minute of it. So I sold the company, retained another one which I’d started years before and which has always looked after me nicely, and bought the house. I was ready to settle down, ready to take time out, and then I saw the rose garden.’

  ‘And you were lost.’

  He smiled a little sadly. ‘I was lost. There was something inside me that needed to be here, something about this place which I just knew would make it all right again.’

  ‘And has it now? Is it working?’

  The smile faded. ‘I’m getting there. Slowly. But—’ He broke off, his brow pleating as he held her eyes. ‘I don’t know if I can do this bit, Emelia. Us. You and me and the baby. I don’t know if I trust it, it seems so…tidy, and I don’t know if I trust my own reaction to you both. I’ll be a father to Max, gladly. I could never walk away from that and I’m more than happy to accept as much responsibility as you like. But I don’t know if I can give you more. I know you aren’t like Alice, but there’s no way on earth I want to make myself that vulnerable again.’

  She held his eyes, then swallowed, retrieving her hand from his. ‘So—why did you make love to me? If you couldn’t do “us”, then why—?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t,’ she said softly, hugging her upper arms and looking away. ‘If you didn’t want me, then you should have left me alone. Left us as we were, Sam. You shouldn’t have touched me if you didn’t want me.’

  ‘I wanted you,’ he said, the words dragged out of him against his will, and she turned back to him, her eyes pools of betrayal and pain.

  ‘Not like that. There’s a difference between wanting my body and wanting the whole package, the sleepless nights, the colic, the morning sickness, the labour, the arthritis and incontinence pads—that’s wanting me, Sam. Wanting me when I’m old and grey, just because you love me. Wanting me when the bad stuff happens, as well as the good, being there to hold my hand—that’s wanting me. Not a little recreational sex to pass the time until the baby arrives.’

  ‘It was more than that,’ he said, his words a harsh denial.

  ‘Was it? How much more, Sam?’

  He swallowed and turned away, uncrossing his ankles and standing up, hands rammed in his back pockets.

  ‘How much more?’ she repeated.

  He turned back, his eyes black with the shadows of Alice’s deception. ‘Much more, but—’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Emelia—more sorry than I can tell you, but—I just can’t do it.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ she asked quietly. ‘Am I staying, or am I going?’

  For a long time he said nothing, and she was so, so afraid he’d say go. But he didn’t.

  ‘Stay,’ he said, the word a plea. ‘If you feel you can. And I’ll support you and the baby, pay all your bills, give you your own bank account so you don’t have to ask for anything. I’ll buy the baby equipment—either pay for it or come with you to choose it, and when you’re ready we’ll talk about the nursery here, but in the meantime if there’s anything you need that I can give, it’s yours.’

  Fine words. And sincere enough. Honest.

  The only trouble was, she wanted the very thing he couldn’t give. She wanted Sam.

  And he was off the menu.

  She spent the next few days licking her wounds.

  She felt tired and listless, the adrenaline high of finishing the rose garden wiped away by the realisation that Sam could never let himself love her.

  She pottered in the house, resting more than usual, thinking about the baby and drawing up a list of equipment she’d need. The cottage had broadband, and he’d lent her a spare laptop so she could go online and look for goodies.

  She couldn’t summon any enthusiasm, though, and on Tuesday, when the sun came out, she went out into the cottage garden and started to clear it. She’d been meaning to for ages, and somehow it was only when her fingers were connected to the soil that she felt grounded and secure. And she needed that. Missed it.

  It reminded her of the rose garden, though, which she’d put so much love into for Sam, and she found her eyes filling up from time to time.

  She didn’t do long. Half an hour at a time, because there was no pressure, and anyway this garden was easier to clear. Smaller, for a start. And in between her weeding sprees, she would make a cup of tea and sit in the shade at the back of the house with her eyes closed and listen to the birds.

  It was her antenatal class that night, and she wasn’t sure if Sam would come. He hadn’t said he wouldn’t, and he’d been round every day to check on her, putting her bin out this morning, cutting the grass in front of the house last night, but he’d refused her offer of a coffee.

  So that was over the boundary, then, she thought, and wondered why she hadn’t kept her mouth shut. It had been so much easier before. She should have pushed him away in the garden instead of kissing him back. Instead of pleading with him…

  She wondered, as she worked, if he would turn up. And she wondered how she’d feel about it. Much more shy, curiously, she thought. Crazy, because the other night he’d investigated every inch of her body, as she’d investigated his, and there were no secrets left.

  She knew he’d had his appendix out, and that he’d slipped out of a tree as a boy and sliced his leg on a metal gatepost. There was a faint scar under the springy, wiry hair that covered his thigh, and he’d told her the story of how Andrew had run for help and left him hanging there by his ripped jeans. He’d been eleven, and too adventurous for his own good, and she wonder
ed if Max would be as wild and free.

  She was about to leave for the class when she heard his car pull up outside, and there was a knock on the door. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt again, but black this time—in case she cried?

  ‘I didn’t know if you’d still want me,’ he said, and she had to swallow hard.

  Want him? She’d never stop wanting him. Somewhere between discovering he was the father of her child and handing over the rose garden to him, she’d fallen in love with Sam Hunter, and even though she’d thought she’d never love again after James, she’d been proved wrong.

  ‘It’s up to you,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said, worryingly not denying it. ‘I said I’d come, and if you want me to, I’m still willing.’

  ‘Then—yes, please,’ she said, and tried to smile, but it was a pretty pathetic effort and he pressed his mouth into a hard line and closed the door after her, turning the key and slipping it into his jeans pocket.

  He was obviously finding it hard being around her, and she almost wished she hadn’t asked him to come, but she hadn’t wanted to exclude him. So long as there was the slightest chance he’d come round, she wanted that door left open for him, and if that meant putting up with a little awkwardness from time to time, so be it.

  They talked about baby equipment at the class, amongst other things.

  Cots, buggies, prams, gadgets that performed all three functions and turned into bouncy chairs and car seats and all manner of other things besides, and they had the great nappy debate, real versus disposable.

  He should have found it all immensely dull and irrelevant. To his astonishment, he was riveted—because this was his baby they were talking about, his and Emelia’s baby…

  Not only would there be a person in the world that owed his life to him, but he would, at least, have a practical and useful role in that person’s life.